Loose Ends
by Levi Matthews
Summary: This dark sojourn is a little tribute to the Saints Row series. The Boss is tying up loose ends, but some are easier to deal with than others.


Prologue: Loose Ends

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Saints Row, Saints Row 2 or Saints Row the Third. All credit for this story goes to the people at THQ and Volition Inc.**

**Song Credit: The majority of this chapter was written while listening to Battlecry by Nujabes. RIP, Nujabes.**

**Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to Johnny Gat. (Aug. 2006 to Nov. 2012) We'll miss you, you crazy badass.  
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* * *

"Rise and shine, Dex."

The hood came off and Dex howled in pain. Bright, hot light seared his vision and blinded him. He slumped to the ground, dimly aware of the voice speaking to him. The Boss.

The Boss had him.

"Pull yourself up, you piece of shit."

It wasn't easy. Dex's wrists were bound tight in a pair of handcuffs. He had no wiggle room to move his arms and the cold steel of the cuffs bit painfully into his wrists. He was sweating profusely and his clothes were soaked with it. He knew exactly what was happening.

God help him, Dex knew he was a dead man.

Where had he gone wrong? Everything had been taken care of on the company's end. No paper trail, no computer files that could trace him to anywhere. Hell, he had told Katie to take care of-

Katie.

"Fuckin' bitch," Dex breathed as he pulled himself to his knees. He kept his eyes shut. He didn't want to see the victorious look on the Boss' face.

A chuckle from his captor. "Your secretary didn't sell you out, you piece of shit." The Boss' voice was cold as a blizzard and twice as cruel. "It took me almost three hours to break her. Started with a lighter. Followed that with a healthy dose of brass knuckles. After that, a rusty switchblade dipped in battery acid. She screamed. She fought. She suffered, but she tried her best to keep quiet. Course, she spilled the beans once I took the knife to her face. The pretty ones always do." Dex felt cool breath on his face and realized that the Boss was kneeling next to him. "Katie didn't sell you out, buddy. I cut the information out of her. Bought and fuckin' paid for." Another chuckle. "You know how to pick your employees, I'll give you that. Ultor keeps loyal, to the last."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, sir," a second voice added, this one just as ruthless but more haughty. Dex recognized it at once. "He did hire me, after all."

Gryphon. The nerve of that fat fucker.

"I suppose that's true," the Boss acknowledged with a laugh. He stood and his voice left Dex's ear. "Though I could hardly blame you for turning on him like you did, Mayor Hughes."

Dex's blood ran cold. He knew? The Boss knew and he was _still _working with the bastard? How in hell-

"I'd rather not be called by that name," the Gryphon admonished jokingly, "my wife would be less than pleased if she found out that I was still alive. It might hurt her sympathy vote in the next election."

"Your call, Eric," the Boss replied, uncaring. "Though I'll be honest, I prefer your new name and look over the... old you."

Laughter from Gryphon this time. "Well, I suppose it's for the best then, that Julius decided to pull that fast one on us."

"Something like that."

As his captors engaged in their reflective conversation, Dex was engaged with trying to free himself. He tried to move as little as possible, he knew how sharp the Boss' eyesight was. He slowly began to work his wrists back and forth, using the sweat around his wrists to lubricate the cuffs. Dex kept his eyes screwed shut the entire time. He knew that the minute they opened was the minute he would become the focus of their attention once more.

"We've been taking care of a lot of business, haven't we?" Gryphon pondered aloud, "All kinds of work being done these days."

"Yes we have," the Boss said softly, "Been a few months since Vogel and Julius got put down. Got Manuel Orejuela with a pipe bomb. Shot Luz dead in her car, point blank. Took care of Donnie last week, Ben King in that 'accident' about a month ago." Dex could hear the Boss' knuckles cracking. "Add to that all the remnants of the Brotherhood, Ronin and Samedi we've wiped so far and it comes out to be a lot of killing. And hell, rebuilding a multi-million corporation doesn't happen overnight."

"Indeed," Gryphon agreed. "We both knew that getting Ultor back on its feet wasn't going to be a quick process. Taking Vogal's stain off of everything in the R&D department hasn't been easy, but it's getting there. Slowly but surely, we're... removing the obstacles in our path. The Saints will be legitimate, I assure you. And they'll have the full corporate and political backing of Ultor at their disposal." Gryphon's voice dropped to an almost-whisper. "As for those developments we discussed, I assure you that I've got my best scientists and researchers on the project. Though I can't promise anything specific, I know we'll discover _something_ about your... condition."

Dex stopped squirming for a moment. Condition? Is that what they were calling the Boss' little secret? They were talking about it like it was a bad case of acne or something, rather than-

"We'll figure this thing out," Gryphon said, his voice closer to Dex than before, "or my name isn't Eric Gryphon."

Laughter from the Boss, cold and frightening. "It's not."

The smirk in Gryphon's voice was obvious. "You know what I mean. We'll get it done, sir. You can count on that."

"It's why we keep you around, Eric," The Boss affirmed. "I know you'll get it done."

There. A little bit more. Dex nearly had the cuff loops up to the base of his thumbs. His wrists were bleeding and the salty sweat made the pain excruciating, but Dex kept his mouth and eyes firmly shut. He was so close. So damn-

"Sorry I'm late, made a quick stop on the way here."

Dex froze. Gat? Johnny Gat? No. Hell the fuck _no_. The Boss was scary enough, but Gat? Gat was an entirely different nightmare. Gat was a force of nature, a unstoppable thing without conscience or remorse. If the Boss was a controlled storm, Gat was an unpredictable landslide. Gat was easily the second most dangerous person in Stillwater, right behind the Boss. And Gat was a very, _very_, close second.

"No worries, Johnny. We weren't going to start without you."

Dex was still trying to figure out what exactly was going on when a rock-hard fist smashed into his face. Dex's eyes shot open and a pair of teeth flew from his mouth. He fell to the ground, hard, his struggle against the cuffs lost in the pain.

"You like that?" Gat asked, his voice calm and deadly, "You like that, you lyin', backstabbin' sonofabitch?" A kick buried itself in Dex's middle and he howled like the damned. Once again his eyes were closed, more from pain than fear.

"Easy, Gat," The Boss said quietly, "We've got plenty of time with our old friend. No need to rush things."

"Unless the authorities arrive," Gryphon said dryly, "Then we might have to speed things along. No sense getting arrested because of this... filth." A raspy sound entered Gryphon's throat and Dex felt a gob of warm liquid strike his face. Numbed by pain as he was, Dex had no trouble recognizing that Gryphon had spit on him.

Gat laughed. "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

A fourth voice entered the conversation. "He's right, you know. Stillwater PD isn't going to touch this particular situation. You can count on that."

Dex balked at the sound of the new voice. Troy? Troy fuckin' Bradshaw? Cop turned Saint turned Chief of Stillwater PD? What the hell? What the fuckin' hell?

"Didn't expect to see you here, Troy." The Boss said, an air of surprise in his voice. "I thought you were done with this kind of shit."

Troy's voice was heavy with regret as he spoke. "I'm not saying I approve of torture and kidnapping, but this isn't a normal situation. Dex is the last loose end before the Saints go legit. I need to see this done." Troy gulped audibly. "No matter how... messy things get." He suddenly busied himself with finding a cigarette.

Dex's eyes opened weakly as he struggled to see Troy. "Hey Troy," he coughed, trying to talk through the blood that had pooled in his mouth, "Help me out here, would you? For old times sake?"

The cigarette in Troy's hand stopped on the way to his mouth. "He's awake." No acknowledgement of Dex's plea whatsoever.

Gat tutted quietly. "Well now, look who's decided to join the party?"

The Boss leaned down next to his prisoner, and for a moment he the only thing in Dex's vision. Despite how blurry his eyesight was, Dex felt like he was staring into the face of Death itself.

"You ready, Dex?" The Boss asked as he hauled the former Saint to his feet. "You've lost, and you've lost big. First you left the Saints, your fuckin' family, like they were yesterday's garbage. Sold them out to Troy here, but I don't hold a grudge against cops. They're just doing their jobs."

Troy finally lit his smoke. "Glad to know it's nothing personal, then." His voice carried the slightest touch of sarcasm.

The Boss continued, not missing a beat. "Two years later, the Saints are back on top and the only old crew still around are me and Gat. Thanks to a helpful hint from Troy and a quick call to your cellphone, I find out that Julius is the one who put me in that coma all those years ago. You tell me to meet you in the old church to talk, but instead you lure Julius there too and send your Maseko goons to wipe us both out at the same time. Couldn't even do that right, but hey, I have you to thank for finally being able to put Julius in the ground." The Boss pulled Dex's face close to his own. "After that you tried to double-cross Eric here when you knew he was under my protection. Then you ran, you ran like a scared bitch, hoping that I wouldn't find you." The Boss raised a fist and smashed it against Dex's face. He could feel Dex' nose break beneath his knuckles. "A whole lot of bad decisions, Dex. You should never have fucked with me. You should never have fucked with the Saints."

Blood poured from Dex's face as he recoiled, only to be hit again and again. After an eternity of punches, the Boss allowed Dex to drop to the floor, his face a ruined mess. "Pleath," Dex mouthed, his lips swollen and bleeding, "Pleath, stop. Stop, fo' god's thake stop." He spat out bits of teeth as he spoke. He would have screamed if he hadn't been so weak.

"Not yet," Gryphon breathed as he watched. "No, I think we all deserve to watch this last a little longer."

Gat grabbed Dex by the collar of his shirt and kneed the prisoner hard in the gut. Blood flew from Dex's mouth as gasped for air. "You're gonna suffer," Gat said, his face as emotionless as ever behind his dark-tinted shades, "You're gonna bleed awhile before the Boss sends you to whatever hell he sent Julius to. You're gonna to beg to die before we're done with you." He handed Dex's shirt collar to the Boss and the Saints' leader held him gingerly before smashing a knee of his own into Dex's stomach.

Troy tried to ignore the torture he was witnessing. "You didn't change at all, Dex, not even when the rest of us did. Selling nuclear waste on the black market? You know what that's called in the US? Treason. You're a traitor to your country, Dexter Jackson."

Gryphon smiled evilly. "You're a traitor to your company, Dexter Jackson."

Gat glared from behind his sunglasses. "You're a traitor to your family, Dex."

The Boss nodded. "You're a traitor, Dex, and there's only one thing to do with traitors." He threw Dex to the ground.

Dex struggled to rise, the four most powerful men in Stilwater standing around him. He tried to plead, beg, barter, but nothing came from his lips. He knew that nothing he could say would save him.

The Boss loomed over him, a grim reaper. He held out his hand, palm up, and Gat placed something small and metal into it. Not a gun, then. The Boss leaned down and lifted Dex to his knees. "Beg, you piece of shit. Beg for your life."

"Pleath," Dex sputtered. "Pleath..." His swollen eyes went wide as he identified the instrument in the Boss' hand; a small, thin piece of rebar. Rebar? What the hell was the Boss going to do with a piece of re-

A scream tore from Dex's lips as his question was swiftly and brutally answered. The Boss pushed the metal pole into Dex' left eye until the orb popped. Blood and fluid poured out of the wound and Dex shrieked. Gryphon and Gat watched without pity, but Troy had to turn his head. The Police Chief made a mental note to have the city look into tearing down this particular warehouse. He knew Dex's screams wouldn't last much longer, but Troy didn't want to remember them every time he drove past the place. It would be better to knock the warehouse down and leave the memories buried in the rubble.

Meanwhile, the Boss slowly pushed the rebar deeper and deeper into Dex' head. He was really screaming now, the shock had been replaced with ear-splitting pain and Dex was serenading it. With a swift and brutal motion, the Boss withdrew the rebar from Dex's eye and wiped it on the side of the broken man's face. Dex's cries slowly dissolved into pained whimpers.

"Pleath," he moaned, his face throbbing and his vision all but destroyed, "Pleath, jush khill me."

The Boss cracked his neck from side to side. "Not yet. No, first you get to see what I had to see for two long years." The rebar descended once more and Dex's world went dark as his other eye was all but destroyed.

Dex howled again, louder, if possible. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He was dimly aware that he had soiled himself. His fear and sweat were a stink that rose from every pore in his body.

"Two years, you piece of shit," the Boss whispered as he knelt beside his captive. He twisted the rebar slowly as he spoke and Dex blubbered in pain. "Two years of being alive and dead at the same time. Two years of the Saints, _my_ Saints, being torn apart and scattered to the fuckin' wind because you and Julius let it happen. You're pathetic, Dex. You ain't my brother anymore. You ain't anything but dead." The Boss leaned in close and whispered in Dex's ear. "Two years of nothing but darkness. It swallowed me up, Dex. It'll swallow you up, too."

Boss yanked the rebar free and looked down at the ruined man before him. "Be glad I don't have two years to waste on you, Dex. Be glad I'm not patient enough for that. Give it here, Johnny." Dex heard the Boss' fingers snap and his ears picked up on the sound of sloshing liquid. His nose identified the smell immediately, though his brain could hardly register the source through the pain.

Gasoline.

Dex felt the liquid splash against his chest, then his face. His dead eye sockets were suddenly afire with pain as the volatile chemical assaulted the damaged flesh. His throat burned with it. Every inch of skin on Dex's body was screaming, though he was no longer capable of doing so himself. He was beyond that now. It was almost over. Almost over.

Troy looked at Dex, his face pale. "Jesus, this much for Dex? You did Julius faster than this."

The Boss' gaze rested on Troy and the Police Chief took a step back. There was nothing human in that face, just cold, calculating brutality. It was the face of a man who had murdered countless people without regret. "Troy, it wasn't too long ago that you lit a fuckin' cig off of Victor Rodriguez' corpse. Do yourself a favor and go play in traffic." There was no humor in the Boss' voice. All Troy heard was death.

Gryphon placed a condescending hand on Troy's shoulder. "Feel free to leave, Chief Bradshaw. Nobody is keeping you here if your stomach isn't up for it."

Troy shook his head and brushed Gryphon's hand off. "Let's just get this over with."

Gat nodded and approached Troy. "No sense in drawing this out any more than it has to be." He reached out and took the cigarette from Troy's lips and handed it to the boss. "Your call, Boss."

The Boss took the proffered smoke and looked down on it with hard eyes. Such a small spark. It was more than enough. He looked down at Dex one last time.

"Say hi to Julius for me."

Then, without any hesitation, the Boss tossed the cigarette onto Dex's forehead.

The spark spread quickly, engulfing Dex's head in a mask of flame before spreading to the rest of his body. He burned silently, his mouth open in a soundless scream. His skin began to blacken and peel, dropping off of his frame in curled ribbons before turning to ash on the floor. The air began to cloud with the smell of burning hair and fat. Dex was dying by inches, his body melting under the flames that licked away at him.

Troy covered his mouth and nose with his arm and tried his best not to be ill. The man kneeling before him in flames reminded him of the burn-victims he had seen in his first years of police work. Bodies ruined by fire, bodies that had died in sheer terror. Awful stuff, the stuff of nightmares. Troy felt his gorge rise in his throat, but he pushed it back down. It would only haunt him later if he showed weakness here.

Gryphon watched as his nemesis began to fuse together under the heat. Skin, clothing, all of it was becoming an ashen husk. It reminded him of the Vietnamese monks who had burned themselves in protest of an oppressive government. Noble, selfless sacrifices. A wide smile appeared on Gryphon's face. There was no message in this; only a bastard being burned.

Gat's eyes revealed nothing as he watched Dex die, hidden as they were by dark glasses. The fire flickered in the blue lenses of his shades and Gat's face remained stoic, even as his mind wandered to a young man he had buried alive out of revenge. Shogo Akuji had died screaming, trapped in a coffin and submerged in soil. Shogo Akuji had died like a bitch. Dex was a bitch too, but at least he had the decency to die like something resembling a man.

The Boss watched Dex wither, his face as emotionless as Gat's. He watched Dex burn and his mind brought him back to that day, the day that he had been swallowed up by darkness. The fire around Dex's corpse began to lessen, until only a charred husk remained. The Boss stared down at the ruined body in silence. Had he looked like this when they pulled him from the wreckage of the boat? Had he been nothing but a lump of flesh, dead and burned, until-

"Stinks like fried shit," Gat said. He looked at the corpse with real revulsion. "More than he deserved."

Gryphon nonchalantly checked his watch. "Indeed." A dark grin surfaced on his face. "Still quite satisfying, however."

Troy reached into his pocket for another smoke but thought better of it. "Remind me to never have poker night with you guys."

The Boss smirked. "Aww, and here I thought we could make this into a regular thing."

The ghost of a smile touched the corners of Troy's lips. "Not on your life, Logan."

Gryphon looked over at Logan Cross, his business partner in Ultor and the leader of the Third Street Saints. "That's it, then?"

Logan nodded. "He's the last loose end. Nobody else alive. We're clear and free. We can move on."

Troy placed his hands into his pockets. "And the body?"

Logan thumbed over his shoulder. "Gat's got that covered."

Gat smiled grimly. "Picked up some trash bags on the way here. I'm taking some garbage down to the barges, but I might lose a bag over the Stilwater bridge on my way there."

Troy nodded. "I'll make sure my boys ignore that area for a few weeks. That should give Dex here enough time to get acquainted with the local fish population and keep him from being recognized when he _does_ get dragged up."

A laugh escaped Gryphon's lips. "Well now, who would have guessed? All of us, once bitter enemies, now cooperating like decent folk."

Gat grinned. "I wouldn't be so sure about decent."

"Shit changes," Cross said with a shrug, "We all know that."

Troy pointed at Cross, his eyes hard. "That had better be true. This is the last of it. No more after this. If the Saints go legit, they're staying legit, understood?"

Logan nodded. "You've got nothing to worry about, Troy."

Inside, Troy suppressed the urge to shiver. The fact that he was able to speak to Logan Cross in such a manner and live did nothing to assure Troy that he was in good with the Saints' leader. In fact, being so close to the man on a personal level was probably the only thing keeping the Boss from putting him in a shallow grave. Troy had no idea why Cross hadn't gone after him when the Saints had begun their war to take back Stilwater.

A buzzing sound in Gryphon's pocket broke Troy's train of thought. "I'll be leaving now," Gryphon said as he reached into his pocket and retrieved a shiny red cellphone. "It's been a pleasure, gentlemen." He spat on Dex's corpse a second time before walking off, speaking quietly into his phone.

Troy looked down at Dex's corpse for a moment, his thoughts quiet. "Guess that's my cue." He looked at Gat and then at Logan. "You boys take care. Don't mean to be rude, but I don't want to see much of you from now on."

Gat chuckled a little. "If you're lucky, you won't."

Logan walked up placed a hand on Troy's shoulder, a gesture that should have been reassuring, but wasn't. "It's over, Troy. Your boys have nothing to worry about from me." His grip was like cold steel.

Troy shrugged off Logan's hand as best he could, trying not to offend the merciless killer standing across from him. "I'm trusting you with this. Don't make me regret it." He turned and walked off, the heels of his shoes clacking against concrete. His shaking hands fumbled for a fresh cigarette.

Gat waited to speak until the warehouse doors closed behind Troy. "You really gonna trust Troy to stay out of the way?"

Logan nodded. "Never hurts to have the Chief of Police in your pocket. And it's like you said, he's a lot more forgiving than you are."

Gat chuckled a little. "Shit, you don't forget anything, do you?"

The Boss looked down at Dex's smoldering corpse. "No, I don't."

"So what about Gryphon?" Gat asked, "He tried to have you killed on that boat back when he was Alderman."

"And now he works for me. Some things are better left dead, Gat. The feud between Richard Hughes and the Saints died when Julius blew up that boat. Richard Hughes died too. Eric Gryphon _is_ alive, and he knows better than to fuck with me. Stilwater knows better than to fuck with the Saints." Logan kicked the burnt body onto its side with the toe of his boot. "If Dex is the last person I ever kill, I'll be just fine with that."

Gat raised an eyebrow. "You told Gryphon and Troy that Dex was the last loose end. What about-"

Logan sighed and cut Gat off. "I'll take care of it, Johnny. Tonight."

"You sure you don't want me to-"

"I'll get it done," the Boss reassured him, "It should be me."

Gat shrugged. "Whatever you say, Boss." His gaze settled once more on Dex's corpse. "I'll go ahead and take care of cleanup. You do what you've gotta do."

"Thanks, Johnny. I'll see you back at the crib."

"Pierce and Shaundi are gonna ask where we've been all night."

The Boss nodded. "And we'll tell them. We'll tell them everything."

Gat raised an eyebrow. "Everything? Even-"

Logan gripped Gat reassuringly on the shoulder before walking away. Gat shrugged and put on a pair of black leather gloves. Time to bag some trash.

The Boss' past was almost dead, almost behind him. He had his family. He had his friends. He had the power he wanted, the power he had fought and bled and almost died for. Money, guns, cars, women, Logan Cross had it all. He was the most powerful man in Stilwater, and he had everything he wanted.

Well, almost everything.

He stepped into the night. It had rained earlier that day and the air was crisp, clean and cold. It should have been refreshing, especially after the smell and heat of a man being burned alive, but it offered the Boss no solace. His mind was heavy with the weight of the burden he had taken upon himself.

The street empty was save for him, but anyone watching would have seen a lone figure walking under the dim streetlights, his stride measured and powerful and his footsteps silent. He slowly but surely made his way to the sidewalk corner before pulling out his phone and hitting a number saved to speed-dial.

The phone rang twice before it was answered. "Mmm'hello?" The voice on the line was groggy, tired, uncertain.

"Rocco, it's me. I'm texting you the address I'm at. Get my bike out of the garage and meet me here."

Rocco's voice was suddenly more awake and tinged with anger. "Man, you got any idea what time it is?"

"2:37 a.m."

"It's tomorrow, for fuck's sake!"

"Just get here, Rocco, and make it fast. I'll be waiting."

The Boss ended the call.

* * *

"Took you long enough."

Rocco pulled up on the Boss' custom Kaneda. The sleek motorcycle was black as night and twice as dangerous, at least when the Boss was driving it. When Rocco was on delivery duty he made extra certain that the Boss' bike arrived intact. It was the Boss' baby. Rocco never drove it over the speed limit, never hit the nitrous and never ever got into trouble with the cops. Rocco treated the Boss' Kaneda like it was the most sacred thing on earth, because that's what the bike was to the Boss. You didn't fuck with the Boss' bike. Only the Boss, or Rocco, ever drove the supercharged, super-armored motorcycle.

Rocco was fed up with it.

He snapped the bike off with a turn of the keys and kicked, actually _kicked, _the bike's stand down. He hopped of the Kaneda, wearing a purple Saint's hoodie and a pair of baggy grey sweatpants. His feet, embarrassingly enough, were covered by fuzzy pink rabbit slippers. Not exactly the most intimidating attire for a man who had been killing alongside the Saints for almost a year. Rocco wasn't even wearing his 'trademark' black fedora with the purple stripe that he had become so fond of. Rocco knew that he looked like a fool, and he was pissed.

And when the Boss pulled out the old 'took you long enough' jab, Rocco went over the edge.

"Man, I am sick of your shit!" Rocco shouted angrily, his face reddening with the effort. He glared at the Boss, his pent-up rage pouring out of him in a flood tide. "You call me at all hours of the goddamn day, so I can bring you your goddamn bike. Don't matter where or when; when you gotta have yo' bike, you gotta have yo' muthafuckin' bike."

"Rocco-"

"No, you just fuckin' listen!" Rocco retorted. Part of him, a very small, quiet part of him, cowered in fear before the most dangerous man in Stilwater. That part of him was horrified that Rocco was directing a fit of rage at the Boss, but that part was ignored. If he was already this far in, he was going all the way.

"I drag my ass out of bed, or away from where I'm having lunch, away from whatever it is I'm doin', just so I can bring you yo' fuckin' Kaneda every time you call. And then, every damn time I show up, you hop on the bike and drive away without me. Every damn time! Leavin' my ass out in the cold or the heat or sometimes in the middle of fuckin' nowhere. Sometimes you're even getting shot at and you leave me behind! What the fuck, man? What the fuck?"

Rocco took a series of deep breaths. "And I never get a, 'Thanks Rocco, I really 'preciate you comin' all the way out here with my damn bike, you need a ride back to the crib?' No, I never get a single goddamn 'thank you'. That's bullshit and you know it. That's nothin' but bullshit. I-" Rocco was suddenly silent as he realized exactly who he was yelling at.

Bathed in the flickering yellow of the overhanging streetlight, the Boss was one intimidating motherfucker. From the waist down he was faded grey designer jeans and a pair of black combat boots. His torso was purple silk, a long-sleeved, button-up shirt with a collar and silver buttons. Over that was a leather jacket, black as midnight and worth a small fortune.

The Boss' attire concealed the body of an athlete, thin and muscular. Olive skin, slicked black hair and a door-handle goatee defined the Boss and framed his angular face. His sharp, defined features stopped just short of handsome and planted themselves firmly in intimidating. His eyes were angry purple orbs that glowed with hostility. The purple was rumored to be the result of surgery, but the color didn't seem artificial. The eyes blazed with their own cold light, framed by narrowed eyebrows and a mouth made hard by animosity.

Rocco took a step back. "Hey, hey Boss I'm sorry. I'm tired and shit, you know how it is. People say shit they don't mean, you know?"

Rocco closed his eyes. _Oh man, this is it. I'm fuckin' dead. Boss is gonna shoot me or strangle me or light me on fire. Oh fuck, I ain't ready to die!_

Rocco's eyes flew open when the Boss reached out with one hand and patted the Saint on the shoulder. "It's okay, Rocco," the Boss said with a tired smile. "I understand. Thanks for bringing my bike out this late."

Rocco's mouth dropped. "I... Uh..."

The Boss reached out and took the keys from Rocco's numb hand. "You want a ride back to the crib? I'm headed past there anyway."

Rocco just stared.

The Boss hopped on his bike and nodded to the rear seat. "Come on, if you're coming." He plugged the two-pronged key into the ignition and the vehicle roared to life.

Wordless, Rocco walked over and hopped on the Kaneda. "Better get a good grip," the Boss said as he leaned in close to the bike's frame.

"I drive like a demon."

Before Rocco could say a word, the Boss screamed away from the warehouse. The Saints' leader laughed into the night, while his ever-loyal Soldier held on for dear life.

* * *

It was quiet on the dock.

The same damn dock that had almost killed him. Granted, it had been the West Side Rollers that had tossed him into the back of a car trunk with a gunshot wound in his stomach before pushing said car into the murky depths, but the Boss still associated the place with the deed. It was association by experience, or whatever his shrink called it.

_I'll need big session with Cynthia after this,_ Logan concluded. His therapist was sexy, smart, and effective. That's why she still had the job.

Logan sighed, anticipating what was to come. He stripped off his jacket and folded it carefully before laying it across the seat of his bike. Next, he unbuttoned the cuff on his left shirtsleeve and pulled the sleeve up over his elbow. The skin of his left forearm, tough and unmarred, was exposed to the elements. He shivered, not from the cold. There was dark work to be done.

With his right hand the Boss reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. The weapon's handle was worn ivory, rubbed smooth by years of handling. The blade clicked out, dark with dried blood.

Logan looked out over the water. "Deep," he whispered. "Should have died down there."

He gritted his teeth and plunged the blade into the skin of his left arm.

The runes took only a moment to carve, but the pain was intense. He had endured worse, gunshot wounds, explosions, stabbings, beatings, burns and broken bones. But there was a certain kind of suffering associated with wounds that you gave yourself. Finished, Logan threw the switchblade into the ocean. He wouldn't need it again after tonight.

The runes carved and dripping with fresh blood, Logan reached into his pocket with his left hand and pulled out his cellphone. Blood stained the front of his jeans and dribbled down onto the pavement. He let it fall. The price was being paid.

He flicked a finger across the phone's touch screen, smearing it with red. A single phone number was illuminated under the blood. It glowed with malevolence.

Logan pressed dial and brought it to his ear. The phone rang once before being picked up. There was silence on the other end.

"Lin," he breathed.

On the other end of the line, something howled.

Logan cut the call and put the phone into his right pocket. Nothing left to do but wait. The thought of dying crossed his mind a few times, but it didn't bother him unduly. He knew what he was in for.

He didn't have to wait long.

An infernal hearse, something straight from a mechanized hellscape, roared down the alley to meet him. The vehicle was a sickening green color and fire barked from its exhaust pipe. Human skulls covered the grill and clattered as the car bounced on the pavement. Each of them grinned like jesters at the futility of mortality.

The hearse tore down the ally with reckless abandon, smashing aside garbage cans and any unfortunate stray animals caught sleeping among them. Several times the vehicle swerved violently and scraped up against a building. The shriek of metal and mortar was almost too much to hear. Several people within a few blocks would have their restful sleep destroyed by horrible nightmares later on, as the sound of the hearse slowly dug itself into their hearts.

Logan stared the hell hearse down. It screamed toward him before turning hard and screeching to a stop. The hearse sat there and smoldered for a moment, growling as fire belched out from its innards.

"Get out," Logan whispered. Blood continued to drip from his arm. The carvings he had made ached at the presence of the hearse.

The driver's side door opened. Tongues of fire lashed out from the interior of the hearse and scourged the concrete beneath them. A figure slowly pulled itself out of the vehicle, untouched by the flames that licked the air around it.

The door shut and Logan appraised Lin's rotted form. Where she had been a beautiful woman in life, Lin's reanimated corpse was horrible to behold. Her skin was a diseased gray and several chunks of her flesh were missing, showing rotted meat and white bone. Her head lolled at an unnatural angle. Her jaw hung low, exposing a row of bloodstained teeth and a bloated tongue. Her eyes, once a warm and beautiful brown, had become lifeless orbs of black. Her hair, clumped and filthy, was still tied into that topknot bun that Logan Cross had found so attractive.

He tried to imagine what she had been before her death. A tough, sexy asian girl that had teamed up with him to take down the West Side Rollers. That seemed so long ago, so trivial. He had started falling for her, hard. She had gotten past his guard. That smile. The attitude.

Logan still had no idea why Lin had made such a big impression on his life. He had never even kissed her, let alone done anything else but be her go-to guy for causing hell in the streets of Stilwater. Maybe that was it. She was like him. Reckless. Destructive. Two strong, dysfunctional souls trapped in a world that thrived on inadequacy and weakness.

He hadn't been able to keep Lin safe. Both of them had fallen into a trap, one he should have seen coming. They had both been shot, locked in the trunk of her car, and pushed into the ocean.

In the end, she was the one who died saving _him_. It should have been the other way around. It should have been different.

Logan's hands curled into fists. He had killed the men responsible for her death. William Sharp. Joseph Price. Even Donnie later on, that little chickenshit. He had murdered them for her sake, as well as his own. Vengeance wasn't enough. It didn't keep her out of his dreams, or make the memory of her cloud with time.

So, in a moment of lunacy, he had made a deal to bring her back.

"Lin."

She stumbled toward him, gibbering and groaning. It took all of Logan's self control not to run, not to scream in horror. It was his fault. The monster shuffling toward him was his mistake, his doing.

The monster that had once been Lin stopped as she came within arm's reach. She looked at him with her lifeless eyes and twitched, as if her ruined body couldn't stay still. Logan shuddered at the thought of what was keeping her together, keeping her alive.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I should never have... I should have left you dead. It would have been easier that way."

The zombie gurgled at him.

The runes on the Boss' arm were throbbing now, pulsing with a glowing orange heat. He reached into his pocket, blood dripping from his fingertips, and pulled out his custom Shepherd .45. The weapon's steel coating reflected the fire coming from the infernal hearse nearby. The vehicle growled and flames began to glow in the mouths of the skulls decorating its grill. It was becoming agitated.

"No sense in dragging this out," he said with a shrug.

The Boss pointed his gun at Lin, the girl he should have been with, the girl he had condemned to a hellish fate. His thumb pulled back on the Shepherd's hammer. The gun was heavy in his hand. The runes pulsed, readying themselves for the task at hand.

Logan Cross looked into Lin's black eyes one last time. "I'm letting you go," he said quietly. "I think I loved you, but that was a long time ago."

He fired and light flashed from his arm. Lin's head exploded. She slumped to the ground, dead for the second and final time. Cross knew it was a mercy. He looked down at the body and watched it slowly dissolve into beautiful white ash.

Lin was free.

The infernal hearse screamed.

The sound of it brought Logan to his knees. No mouth made that scream. It pierced the mind. The runes he had carved were pulsing in protest. It was now or never.

The hearse roared down the alley, fire pouring out of open windows and from under the chassis. When it reached the mouth of the alley it braked hard and turned back to Cross, shuddering and bucking with evil. The windshield was now a pair of glowing red eyes that blazed with hellfire. The hearse's window wipers had become twisted, hateful eyebrows that shook with the vehicle's unholy anger.

The engine revved and the shrieks of the damned followed it. The hearse sped down the alley once more. Its hood popped open to reveal a maw of endless teeth, black with dripping blood. The car-thing snarled as it neared the Saints' leader. It intended to devour him, retaliation for the soul that had been stolen.

The Boss stood up as the demon raced toward him. His left arm was practically on fire now and blood continued to drip from the runes. His strength was almost gone. He would only have one chance.

_Stay calm,_ Lin had told him while she died. _We're gonna get out of this._

He raised the .45 and pointed it at the oncoming hell spawn. A tired smile crooked the right side of his face. His finger rested calmly on the trigger.

"Fuck you."

The gun roared and punched a hole through the demon's windshield. Blinding white light poured from the wound. The hearse howled and swerved, unable to see its prey. It smashed into several walls before one of its tires bounced off an overturned trash can and forced the vehicle onto its side. Its momentum carried it forward as it howled in anger, unable to right itself.

Logan let the hearse slide past him. He fired shot after shot into the monster and was rewarded each time by mind-shattering screams of pain and wounds of white light. Down to his last shot, Logan shoved the barrel of his Shepherd through the hearse's roof, punching through a material that was more skin than metal.

He pulled the trigger and the demon exploded.

The force of the blast sent Logan flying and slammed him against a wall. He dropped hard, groaning as he struggled to pull himself off the ground. Blinking to clear his head, Logan looked up.

The hearse was gone. All that remained of its existence was a burnt outline in the concrete where it had died. An echo of its screams sounded in Logan's head, but that was soon replaced by the sound of heavy rainfall. Water fell from the sky, cooling the Saints' leader.

Logan lifted himself to his feet. He ached all over. His shirt had been burned off and his pants were shredded and torn. One of his boots had been knocked off in the explosion and Logan couldn't see where it had gone. He reached down and undid the lacing on his other boot, letting it slide off. He pulled the socks from his feet and tossed them onto the ground. They were quickly soaked by the pounding rain and Logan relished in the cold water streaming between his toes.

Glancing at his arm, Logan watched as the runes carved into his arm slowly vanished. Not even scars remained to mark their existence. It was just as well. He needed no reminders of what had transpired. It would be burned into his mind forever, as would the resolution he had brought about. It was over. Finished. Done.

Logan looked out over the open water. Thoroughly soaked, the Boss walked forward and let his eyes rest on the place where he and Lin had met her end. It had been her will, her drive to survive that allowed him to escape darkness and death and keep moving. She had shown him how to be strong. He wouldn't forget her.

His bare foot prodded something cold and metal. Logan looked down and smiled at his pistol. He reached down and picked up the Shepherd, admiring the heavy handgun before he slid it into his belt loop. He walked over to his Kaneda and his smile grew bigger. His bike was untouched and his jacket was still folded on the seat.

Logan pulled the jacket over his bare torso and mounted the Kaneda. The engine revved and the headlight popped on, clearing darkness from his path. The Saints' leader pulled out his cellphone and wiped the screen clean with a wet thumb. He then made a call with a few swipes of his finger.

"Hey, it's me. Listen, I got it done. Yeah. No, I'm on my way back now. The others with you? Good. I'll be there shortly."

The Boss hung up the phone and looked over the dark water one last time.

"So long, Lin."

The motorcycle tore into the night, blazing through the alleyway and past hazy streetlights. The rain continued to fall, guiding him onward.

* * *

**LM here,**

**Okay, so this is one I came up with a while ago. I kept adding things to it, small bits here and there, not really sure where it would end up going. It started out as torturing Dex, which lead to Lin from the first Saint's Row, which lead to her zombie and a hearse from hell. Huh. I really need to lay off the PCP.**

**My plan with this is to novelize the story of Saints Row 3. There will be certain changes made to the canon, especially in areas where I felt the game fell short. That doesn't mean the fic is AU, it's still the basic premise behind SR3, but certain characters may do different things, etc etc. (I don't do spoilers here).**

**This also marks the longest prologue I've written for a story so far. It's got quite a bit of meat on its bones, but it mimics the chapter lengths I've got planned for this fic. It gets hard writing 10k+ word chapters, I tell you what.**

**Anyway, we'll see how this one does. I like the idea, and working with some of the characters from SR3 would be a lot of fun. If not, meh. I'm proud of what I've done here. Hopefully you enjoyed it.**

**Let me know what you think. Reviews are always appreciated.**

**Levi Matthews**


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